"Renee, no. Put it back."
"But Charlie, it was my grandmother's."
Her hushed voice is pained, and I'm sure a frown is on her lips. I shift the backpack between my shoulder blades for the millionth time, praying that the car shows up quickly. It's stuffed so full that the zipper is barely holding together. I want to look back and plead at my mother with my eyes not to argue, but I refuse to take them away from my incredibly important task while my heart pounds in my ears, sounding like a steel-winged hummingbird.
"I know, sweetheart, but we can't run with an antique vase. Only the necessities." His whispered voice is filled with apologies.
Footsteps shuffle behind me for a moment before I hear an ear-splitting crash. Fear spikes, and I whip my head around, squinting to see in the darkness of the room. It's then I see my grandmother's vase in pieces on the floor. I cover my mouth with my hand and look to the far wall in the living room. "Do you think they heard?" My mother asks quietly.
"Shh." Dad tiptoes to the wall and presses his ear against it. After an exceptionally long and very tense couple of minutes, he gingerly walks back to my mother and shakes his head. "I don't think the crash woke them."
"Thank heavens." She mumbles. Everyone's relief is palpable.
The duplex living style of the compound was designed to prevent what my family and I are doing right this moment.
Escaping.
The walls are paper thin so your neighbor can hear what you are doing in your home. I was always told it was so that our neighbors can help us stay pure and stop us from sinning. If they heard you singing a song that was banned or speaking in a way that was thought to be disrespectful of your spouse, your neighbor was to tell the Shepherd, and he would reprimand you. No privacy meant you were less likely to sin.
I huff. Yeah, right.
Checking my watch again, I see that our ride is terribly late. I'm trying hard to refrain from nervously biting my nails. "Do you think the patrol caught him?"
"I don't think so, Bella. It's probably just taking longer for the sleeping pills to kick in for Felix and Demetri."
The south wall guards. I hate those guys with a fierce passion. Mostly because of the terrifying rumors about them and what they've done. Stories of tortured animals and sinners with broken bones followed them wherever they went.
My fingers return to my mouth, where I bite my nails down to the quick. It's a habit I was forced to break years ago, and now it feels amazing to allow myself to do it because it doesn't really matter anymore.
We're leaving this place.
The silence is deafening for the next few minutes. I can feel the fear and hope mixing in the air and smothering any chance of a whispered conversation.
I, myself, feel more fear than hope. The thought of being caught and stuck here is almost enough to make me vomit.
Just as I bite my last nail, I see an old white van roll up on the dirt road in front of the house. The headlights are off, and there is no license plate. "There he is."
"No wasting time. Go!" Dad moves swiftly and silently to the door and swings it open. I'm right behind him, and then we are running.
Running from everything I've ever known. Running from everything I was going to be and never wanted to be in the first place. Running towards something I know absolutely nothing about but crave more than anything I thought possible.
… A life outside of the Community.
With one more quick look back over my shoulder, I think I see movement in the neighbor's darkened home. My heart is now beating as fast as a hummingbird, causing my nerves to spike and taking my fear along for the ride.
The heavy backpack is slowing me down, as is the small duffle bag I'm carrying in my right hand. My dad tried to get me to leave it, but the thought of leaving Sam's art books and clothes behind tore at me. I just couldn't do it.
My mom keeps looking over her shoulder at the neighbor's door; paranoia etched onto her normally carefree face. "Faster." Dad grabs her elbow and pulls her along, dodging the giant cactus and its protruding arms in the dark. It was always one of the only places to find shade in the heat of the summer, and for that, I loved it. I even named it when I was four.
"We should have waited for a new moon."
She's right. I look up at the offending moon and curse it for lighting up the night.
Looking back ahead, I see Jake jump out of the driver's seat and fling open the sliding door to the van. "Hurry!" he whisper-shouts, waving his hand for us to hurry.
I'm watching him when his eyes dart behind us. His tan skin pales so much it resembles mine instead of his usual rich caramel.
"THE SWAN'S ARE RUNNING!"
I look back and see James and his wife Victoria standing out front in their nightclothes.
If I thought my fear had peaked before, I was so very wrong. My heart is pounding painfully hard as I hear him scream at his wife to call the Squad and notify the Shepherd. My chest begins to ache with the force of its relentlessly fierce pounding.
I look back again and see James running after us and quicken my pace. Of course, I stumble the last few steps and practically fall into Jake. It was a miracle I made it this far without falling. "Hurry, Bella. Get in!" he yells, not bothering to be quiet anymore. In a matter of minutes, the Squad will be on the hunt and setting up roadblocks out of the compound to stop us from escaping.
I feel my dad's hands grab onto me and pull me into the seat face first. Before my feet are even inside the van, Jake is back behind the wheel, and we're fishtailing down the dirt road.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" Dad's string of profanities is something I've never heard before. "Step on it, Jake!"
"I am!" he screams while my mom shoves the sliding door shut and starts to buckle up—the engine groaning under Jake's lead foot.
"Put on your seatbelt!" she yells at me as my dad climbs up front, and she climbs to the far back, leaving me in the middle. He pulls out a jar of nails from his bag and his retractable police baton. "Renee, here." He reaches over my shoulder, holding out the items, and my mother grabs them before turning in her seat and busting out the back window. "Lay down in the seat, Bella." He commands.
When he pulls out his service pistol, I panic. "Dad, what is that for?!"
"It's just a precaution, sweetie." I know the moment the words pass his lips that he's lying. He doesn't know I overheard him telling my mother how the Squad shot at the car the Jenson's were in last month when they tried to escape.
"Charlie!" My mother's panicked scream causes me to jump. I look behind us and see a set of headlights gaining on us quickly. When we take a sharp turn way too fast, I'm caught off guard and thrown into the window. My head hits it hard, and I feel wetness trickling down my scalp.
"Do it now, Renee!" She takes the jar of nails and starts to shake them out onto the road.
The truck behind us revs its engine and starts swerving all over the road. "I think it's Alec behind the wheel. Jane is in the passenger seat." Dad curses again over Jake's proclamation. I say some of those words in my head as my foggy brain processes that information. Of all of the people on the Squad, the Winter twins are the most sinister.
"The Shepherd must have sent them," Jake says, glancing back at me with worry. "We have Bella."
I gulp as the fog starts to recede from my head injury. "I…I can't. I can't, Dad. Please don't let them get me." I'm trying my very best not to let the desperate panic I feel take over, but I'm so close to losing that fight. I look back to the truck behind us and see they are still gaining on us.
"No one is going to touch you." The statement from my father is fierce. He cocks his gun, chambering a bullet, and sets another magazine in the cupholder. His eyes zero in on the headlights behind us. "I'm not going to tell you again. Lie down."
I comply this time because a loud pop sounds from behind, just a fraction of a second before the sound of a bullet hits the van.
I scream and cover my head with my hands.
"Charlie!" Mom's hysterical cry can barely be heard above the gunfire that ensues. The rearview mirror shatters when it's hit, and Jake grunts deeply when a bullet tears through the left shoulder of his seat. "Jake!" I scream and sit up.
The gunfire immediately stops once my head is above the seat. "Jake! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I lean forward and see him reach up to his neck, his hand coming away covered in blood. His other hand is tight on the steering wheel as we pass by the congregation hall. "It just grazed me."
I lean up and check it myself, relieved to see that he's right.
"Bella! Get down!" Dad tries to grab me and shove me down, but I wiggle away from him.
"NO!" I shout back. "They won't shoot if there's a chance of hitting me! The Shepherd doesn't want me injured." I wave my hand behind me at the three trucks now tailing us. "See!"
"I don't care." He moves faster this time and is able to shove my head to the seat next to me. The moment I'm out of sight, the gunfire starts again.
"NO!" I scream, sitting up. Once again, all sounds of firing guns stop. "No one else is getting shot!"
"Dammit! The tractor is almost in place!" Jake's foot presses down the accelerator, pushing the old van to its limit. It groans painfully loud under the pressure.
Sure enough, I can see the old bulldozer rolling into the intersection when I look ahead. It's the only way out of the compound. What you can't see are the concrete pylons in the bushes on either side of the road to prevent you from going around. If the tractor gets into place before we get by…
"Hurry!" I scream as panic claws at my throat.
We can't get caught. I can't stay here.
The rumors of Lauren Mallory's death have been at the forefront of my mind the past few weeks, and they replay in my head. She was too sweet to die the way she did.
"Faster!" I cry out when I see the Shepherd's Hummer nearing the intersection from the west. "He's coming for me!"
"We're going to make it!" Dad yells as the van just barely squeezes between the encroaching tractor and the pylon on the left. Both side mirrors get knocked off and shatter the front windows. The noise is loud, and it takes Jake a few seconds the get the van back onto the road. I can see the city limits sign ahead and know we're almost home free. The Squad can't go off the reservation.
"I'm hurt."
My father's usually commanding voice is barely above a whisper as he utters those words. I watch in horror as he pulls his hand away from his right shoulder. There isn't one pale strip of his skin showing. It's completely covered in bright red blood.
"Dad!"
Strong hands grasp my shoulders tightly and shake me awake.
My breathing is erratic, and a layer of sweat is covering my body, causing my pajamas to stick to me. I sit straight up in bed and almost knock heads with my dad. "Bella, are you okay? You were having another night terror." He looks down at me with worried eyes.
I close my eyes, bring my shaky hand up to my face, and push my long hair out of my mouth. After a few deep breaths and telling myself it was just a dream over and over again, I open my eyes. The familiar, dark purple walls of my room help calm me further – a reminder that we're far away from where I grew up. All of the walls there were white. Every. Single. One. "Yeah. I'm okay."
"What was it this time?"
"The night we escaped." My eyes dart down to his shoulder and look at the two-inch-long scar where a piece of glass was lodged. It nicked an artery, and he almost died on the way to the hospital.
"We're fine—it's been a year. If they haven't found us by now, then they probably won't." He leans forward and kisses my forehead.
I nod my head. "I know, I just wish my subconscious did." I try to chuckle, but it comes out all wrong.
"Do you want a glass of water? I can run down and get you one?"
"No. I'm okay." I give him a weak smile and lay back down in my bed. I reach over and turn off the small lamp he turned on when he came in to wake me. "I'll probably be back to sleep in a few minutes."
He returns my smile with a disbelieving one. "Your mom and I are right down the hall."
I can't help but roll my eyes. "Dad, I'm nineteen, not nine. I'll be okay in a few minutes."
One nod with pursed lips later, he's walking out of my room and back to his. When the door shuts, I finally allow myself to let loose the tears I've been holding back. I cry quietly till I fall asleep, still terrified the Shepherd will find us.
When morning comes, I hurriedly shower and slip on a white sundress with tiny pink flowers on it. After I dry my hair and pull it up in a ponytail, I meet my parents downstairs at the breakfast table. "Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad." I sit down just in time for my mom to serve us eggs, bacon, and biscuits. "Everything smells and looks so good, Mom."
"It does, honey." He smiles up at her and puts down his newspaper. "Although I wouldn't be saying that if it were twenty years ago."
She narrows her eyes at him and flicks him with the dishtowel that's slung over her shoulder. "Not everyone is naturally good in the kitchen. I had to practice…a lot." The two of them share a sweet smile between them before they both say in unison, "peach cobbler."
They start laughing, and I roll my eyes. I must have heard the story about the peach cobbler that went up in flames a hundred times in my life. Still, I like seeing my parents so carefree. I never knew they could be so playful until we left.
After breakfast, I wash the dishes while my dad straps on his service weapon and my mother makes his lunch. After a few kisses between them and a disturbing butt grab from my mother to my father, he walks out and hops into his cruiser.
Once he's gone, she comes to help. "So, what part are you on now?" She nods to the book that's poking out of my bag by my seat.
I smile big at her. "The one where Gandolf comes back as Gandolf the White."
"I should re-read them. I loved those books when I was growing up."
"I never did thank you for recommending them. They've been absolutely captivating so far. I'm just still so glad to have something to read that came out in this century. Well, the nineteen-hundreds." Although my favorite book is still Wuthering Heights – a book from1846 — it was hard being so limited in what I could read. The mandate that all books, which weren't approved by the Shepherd were banned meant that any book where women weren't subservient to men, were deemed 'dangerous.'
"Hey, Mrs. Swan? How's it hanging this a.m.?" Jake comes in the front door without hesitation.
She flicks him with dishwater and scowls at him. "Manners, Jake." She chastises him.
"What I meant to say was, good morning, fair Swan women. How has your morning been thus far?" He bows deeply before her as we take turns wiping our hands on a towel.
I roll my eyes and shove him in the shoulder. "Come on. We're both going to be late if we don't hurry." I grab my bag and make sure to get an apple off the counter for a snack.
"Not today." He says, straightening out. "I was able to replace the leaky fuel injector last night. The Rabbit is back in business."
"Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid to ride in that death trap of your dad's again."
"It's not a death trap. It's just a tad temperamental."
"Okay. If that's what you want to call breaking down on the side of the road if you push the clutch in too far or hit the radio button while turning."
"Have a good day, kids." My mom waves and blows about a million kisses at us as we leave.
"I swear. You'd think she was sending us off to elementary school with the way she always says goodbye." I cringe as she points to her eye, then makes a heart with her hands, and finally points to me.
Jake looks speculative as he backs out of the driveway. "What do you think she'd be like if she hadn't convinced your dad to join the Community when you were a baby?"
"I've thought about this immensely and always thought she'd probably be a crazy bag lady somewhere. Or a cougar."
"A cougar?" Jake wrinkles his brow and looks at me.
"Yeah." I smile, glad I finally know something before he does. "I heard that girl Jess call some lady that when she was gossiping at the kitchen. I asked Angela later what it meant. She said it was a term for an older woman who went after younger men."
Jake laughs heartily. "She'd totally be a cougar."
"Do you ever wonder who you'd be?" I ask when his laughing dies.
He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. Sometimes. But then again, I really love cars and fixing them, so I probably would've ended up being a mechanic like I am now."
It's only a couple more minutes till we pull into the Forks Community Soup Kitchen. I hop out and wave as Jake drives away, grateful it's not raining yet. Walking up to the building, I see Frankie already sitting under the front stoop. "How are you today?" I ask Forks', resident homeless man. "You're here early."
"Did you get prettier since yesterday, or is that the booze making me see things?" He giggles right before he tosses his flask back, taking a long swig of his liquor. When he's done, he has some of it trickling down his shabby gray beard.
"It's probably the booze," I tell him.
He squints harder as I pass him to go inside. "Nope. You definitely got prettier."
"Flattery will get you nowhere…except if you want two portions of dessert."
He laughs and winks as I walk inside, greeting Ms. Cope. "Good morning! What's on the menu for today?"
"I have a pretty easy menu planned for today. Vegetable soup for lunch and baked chicken with rice and a steamed vegetable medley for dinner. Carrot cake will be for dessert tonight."
"Mmmm, I love carrot cake. You might have to watch me around it. A cake or two could mysteriously go missing." She laughs at my joke as we walk to the back. Once we're in the small workroom, I set down my bag on the table in the middle while she grabs me an apron.
"As you know, Angela will be gone for the next month on the mission trip to Ecuador with her family."
I sigh loudly. "I know." I'm going to miss my best friend so much, even if she is going to help impoverished people.
"Since we don't exactly have people lining up to volunteer to help, I asked the county to send someone that needed to do community service." She looks down at her watch and then back at me as I tie the apron around my waist. "He's supposed to be here in fifteen minutes."
"It's a guy?" I ask.
"Yes. He's got a lot of community service hours he needs to complete, so he'll probably be here till Angela gets back."
"All right. I'll just get a head start on getting the ingredients together since I'll probably have to teach him everything about cooking." The last guy that was sent here six months ago when Ashley quit was horrible. He burned everything he touched, ruining countless meals. I can't let that happen again because the resources and food available are always sorely lacking.
Ms. Cope agrees before she heads off to her office. She's probably going to try and call that food distributer again and see if they have any more food that's about to expire. He's sweet on her and usually comes through with a decent shipment of canned goods.
I grab a cart and roll it to the back where the food storage is. After filling it with everything from Ms. Cope's list, I have to use almost all my might to push it back into the industrial kitchen. The amount of canned vegetables in the cart makes it almost as heavy as me. As I start to unload them onto the prepping station, I hear the front door open and close. Before I have a chance to set down the can in my hand, a deep male voice is calling out.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
When I try and move around the cart, I kick the pinky toe of my right foot against its wheel. "Holy moly, guacamole! Cheese and crackers!" I shout, bending to grab it around my sandal. As I'm hopping around on one foot trying to grab onto the counter so I don't face plant, the kitchen door swings open. I'm only able to see black boots and frayed jeans in my bent-over position as the person enters.
"Did you just say, 'Holy moly, guacamole! Cheese and crackers!" It's obvious the man is trying not to laugh as he repeats what I said.
My eyes narrow at his mocking tone, and I let go of my foot. I mean to turn my angry scowl on him, but when I stand up and our eyes meet, all words go flying out of my brain, and my mouth pops open a little. Before me is the most gorgeous human I've ever seen. I don't see one tiny flaw on his perfectly sculpted face or find any fault with the odd copper color of his hair.
When his eyes scan me slowly from head to toe, sizing me up, I regain my senses. "Yes, I said that." I try to sound confident, but the way the black T-shirt he's wearing pulls tight around his biceps distracts me. I end up sounding slightly unsure.
His green eyes meet mine, and once again, my brain is useless. "What's wrong with the classic, 'shit' or 'fuck'? I find those words to be very effective in relieving pain when I hurt myself."
"Must you use such vulgar language?" I ask him, unable to hide my blush. Even though I've been away from the Community for a year, I'm still not used to the crass expletives that everyone seems to use.
"Yes, I must." He smiles at me. Apparently, he finds something about me funny because he then laughs. "Are you blushing because of what I said? How old are you?"
I straighten and smooth down my apron. "I'm nineteen. I just don't see the purpose of using those specific, unintelligent words when there are endless amounts of others in the English language that could be said instead."
"That's true. But none seem to be as effective or as satisfying as four-lettered ones."
The little quirk of his lips then is truly distracting. "Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to complete my community service. I'm supposed to see someone named Ms. Cope."
"You're a criminal?" I immediately cringe when I realize what I said. My verbal filter has apparently left me today.
But I'm truly surprised that this young, handsome man is a convicted criminal. The people they send here when we are short-handed are usually haggard or disheveled. Their eyes are sometimes hazy; their clothes are unkempt, they're older and look like they've lived a long, hard life.
But the guy in front of me— he couldn't be described by any of the words above, in any way, shape, or form. If I had to guess, I would say he was rich. There was such a wonderful smell coming from him and his hair. Well, at least I think it was his hair.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I forget to get the word 'criminal' tattooed on my forehead?" He reaches up and rubs the skin above his brow. "Dammit. I knew I forgot to do something yesterday." He turns his gaze down to me, and he is clearly unamused by my statement.
I blush. "I'm sorry. It's just that…you don't look like the people who are usually here for court-ordered community service. You're so young and not haggard looking."
"Well, you don't look like the overweight, manly lunch ladies that used to make the food in high school either, and yet, here we both are."
Thoroughly embarrassed by my verbal vomit, I turn and move to the door. "I'll just go get Ms. Cope."
The short distance to her office doesn't give my face enough time to return to its normal color, and when she sees me as I step around the corner, she gives me a quizzical look. Thankfully, she doesn't ask me why I'm blushing. "The guy for work…I mean the community service person." I stop my flustered rambling and close my eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. Thankfully, when I open them, I feel almost normal. "The guy the courthouse sent for community service is here."
I can tell she wants to ask me what the matter is, so I spin on my heels and make my way back to the kitchen. When I get there, the guy is leaning against the prepping area on the left side of the room. His casual stance with arms folded and one leg crossed over the other is…flattering for his physique.
When our eyes meet, he smirks, and I look away. I try to ignore him right next to me as I unload the rest of the cart. I hear Mrs. Cope enter the room and look over my shoulder at her. Once her eyes land on the guy beside me, she quickly looks at me and smiles like she knows some sort of secret.
"Are you Mr. Cullen?" she asks him.
"I am." He pushes off the counter and meets Ms. Cope in the middle of the kitchen. He offers his hand for her to shake. "I'm the criminal." He says sweetly, and I cringe and turn away, telling myself to refocus on my menial task of unloading and then opening the cans of vegetables.
"Well, okay then." She says unsurely, clearly confused as to why he would say that. "Do you have any cooking experience?"
"I do. My mother was a personal chef before she married my father and became a stay at home mom. She made sure my siblings and I knew how to be useful in a kitchen."
"Great." Mrs. Cope says, clapping her hands together in excitement. "The last one they sent almost burned down the place."
"I've only set fire to two places in my life, but those were intentional. You have nothing to worry about, Ms. Cope."
My head whips around to see Ms. Cope's face pale slightly before she turns. "Right. Um…you can start over here, Mr. Cullen." She leads him to the opposite side of the kitchen. "Do you think you can handle making cornbread?"
"Yes, ma'am. But please, call me Edward. I'm only twenty-three; I shouldn't be called Mr. Cullen at least until I'm forty."
Something about the look on his face makes Ms. Cope giggle for a moment. I wish his back weren't turned so I could see it.
"The recipe is right there taped to the backsplash. Bella can show you where the ingredients are. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask one of us."
"Thank you so much, Ms. Cope. I'm looking forward to working with you ladies for the duration of my community service."
"I'm glad you feel that way." She steps away from him and points to where the pots and pans are. "All the supplies you need should be over there. I'm sorry, but I should get back to my office; I'm waiting on a call in hopes of getting a large donation, and I don't want to miss it." She leaves then, and when he starts to turn around to look at me, I quickly turn back to emptying the cart, not wanting to get caught looking at him.
It's quiet for a moment while I hear him shuffling around. "Bella, was it?" I jump a little, not expecting him to be right behind me.
"Yes?" I ask, picking up the last can and setting on the prepping station.
He looks deeply into my eyes when I turn. "Where can I find what I need?"
The deep green of his eyes confuses me. "What?"
"I said, where can I find what I need?" He leans closer to me ever so slightly. There is a pause for a moment where we stare at one another. I'm sure he's waiting for an answer; I'm just not sure what it is. Just as I'm about to say something stupid, he smiles and pulls the recipe for cornbread from behind his back and waves it in my face.
"Oh, right this way." Not entirely sure why I feel the need to blush, I grab the now empty cart and turn to lead him to the storage room. I flip on the light and wave my hand at the sparse looking pantry. "Everything you'll need should be in here."
"Thank you, Bella."
"You're welcome," I say before practically running from him. He makes me feel weird – some way I've never felt before, and I'm not sure if I like it. Once I get back to the kitchen, I grab the can opener and set about my task, determined to shake off whatever this strange feeling is. The best way to do that is to focus on the task at hand.
After opening the tenth can, I'm already feeling better. Unfortunately, that is right when he decides to return. He doesn't say anything as he passes me, and I don't look up. After a few minutes pass, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I turn around and watch his back as he starts to add ingredients to a large bowl. There are earbuds in his ears, and his head is bobbing slightly. I watch him for a couple of minutes as he works, intrigued by how he moves so fluidly around the workbench, adding and mixing ingredients.
I can see you staring at me." His voice startles me in the quiet of the room. That's when I see him looking in the reflection of the stainless-steel backsplash. Sure enough, I see myself reflected in horrifying detail. My eyes find his just before I turn around.
"I was just wondering if you needed help with anything."
"Nope. I've got everything covered."
"All right," I say, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched. I recommit myself to my task and become determined to ignore him as much as possible.
And it works.
Sort of.
By the end of the day, I've only looked at him another six times. Thankfully, and to my surprise, the cornbread turned out perfect without any of my help. He stays in the back cleaning while I go up front and serve lunch. By the time that is done, he's gone. Ms. Cope said he had already scheduled to do community service at a nursing home before he was offered to do it here. She said he would be here for a whole eight-hour shift with us tomorrow. I was confused when she winked at me after she said that.
By the time I climbed into the car with Jake at the end of the day, I was dead tired.
"How was your day?" Jake asks jovially.
"Long," I say, buckling up.
"Did you not have people there to help?"
"We had a new guy in the kitchen today to do his community service, but he had to leave after lunch."
"What's he like?" Jake tugs at my hair to get me to look at him and smile. It's something he's done since we were toddlers.
"Tall."
"Tall?" he asks.
"Yes. Tall. He was also good in the kitchen—said his mother taught him how to cook when he was a kid. I didn't have to hover over him the way I have to with all the rest."
"So, you think he'll be a good help while Angela is gone?"
"I do." I think he can sense how tired I am and lets me lay my head on the back of the seat in silence the rest of the way home.
When we pull up in my driveway, Jake hops out and follows me to the door. "Thanks again for the ride. When do you think the parts for my truck will be in?" I look over to the decrepit truck parked off to the side of the house. I miss it terribly.
"Maybe another week or two. Hey, do you want to see a movie this weekend in Port Angeles? There's that new one about a spy who falls in love with his partner. It's got action for the guys and romance for the girls. Do you think you'd like to see it?"
"Sure, why not? I don't have any other plans. You should see if Leah and Seth want to go too. Maybe that other girl…oh, what's her name? The pretty one."
Jake fidgets with the keys in his hand for a second and looks off to the side. "I thought it could just be the two of us. You know how much Seth talks. We wouldn't be able to hear what they're saying."
"Oh. Okay." I shrug and open the door. "See you tomorrow." I wave at him, closing the door on his smiling face.
I unsuccessfully do not think about Edward and his green eyes for the rest of the night.